Mr. Can't Get It Up, Part Two

Sometime after I stopped working at Kohl’s and landed the job of my dreams (wow, did I ever actually feel that way about that hellacious place?) Mr. Up called and asked me if I wanted to go out for some drinks or something. I, sensing this was my chance to get some, or at least get the hell out of my mom’s house, said, “Hell yes!”…maybe a little too enthusiastically. After meeting up in the local Wendy’s parking lot, we ended up going to a country-western bar where I once worked for two and a half days (that is a story for another time).

That night was one of the most painfully awkward dates of my life.

Somehow, even though we had tons to talk about before my “I want to fuck you” disclosure, and even though we still managed to have a few good phone calls since I left Kohl’s, on this occasion, we had nothing to talk about. Nothing. Silence was the theme of the evening. It even overtook the awful, blaring country music and the piercing shattering of beer bottles as the surly waitresses prepared to serve another drunken customer.

We barely even touched each other as we sat side by side, nursing our respective beers and looking as pathetic as the rest of the hopeless crowd there. I think every time my bare leg brushed against his, he about jumped off the bar stool. At first I thought it was funny, that maybe he was nervous or something, but it quickly got on my nerves. I mean, I’m an attractive person, do you have to jump like I have leprosy every time I touch you? Jesus! I’ll find someone else in this dump to fuck!

After a lifetime, or several agonizing hours, or at least two beers and painfully limited conversation, we left the bar. As he drove me back to Wendy’s where I left my car, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness that I had ever bothered to tell him how I felt in the first place. It felt like rejection and looked like rejection and I just couldn’t figure out what I did wrong. I mean, I was taught at a very early age that all guys wanted was sex, so why the fuck wasn’t this guy interested in me? Was he really serious about wanting a freaking relationship?

Ok. If it had to be that way, it had been such a long time since I got laid, at this point I would have gone back in time and undone my honest conversation and pretend I wanted to date him, if, and only if, after a short period of time it meant I could finally get to see the rest of those freckles and satisfy my curiosity about the real color of his pubic hair! Christ! Why did I have to fuck things up so badly by being honest?

He said nary a word to me in the short drive back, or none that I recall anyway. However, it turned out that the ambiance of an empty Wendy’s parking lot, or the effects of a few beers, finally managed to loosen his lips. I believe he finally made the first move and leaned in and kissed me around the same time that I finally figured out that he was probably waiting for me to make the first move all night; after all, I was the one looking to jump his bones whereas he apparently didn’t know what he wanted to do with me!

The kiss was pretty good. A little slobbery, tasting like beer and nervous saliva and very awkward, but still, a good kiss. It really had been a very, very long time for me! He pulled away almost as quickly as a race car driver and again we sat there in awkward silence. I guess this was the part where I was supposed to invite myself back to his place, but I didn’t. I was a lot more talk than action at this point. In my fantasies, everything went so much more smoothly than this and I had no idea what to do with this reality!

Finally, in a small, but trying to sound gruff and non-committal, voice, he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place and make good on my offer to, you know, um, have sex. I, trying to sound suave, said sure.

Perhaps it was a delayed response to the alcohol, or endorphins surging through my body, or the sight of a cowboy hat on his wall, whatever it was, once we finally got to his place, I was just about ready to go. I found a reduced inhibition and began making out with him furiously. Or trying to anyway. He still seemed to have reservations or concerns or something other than a raging desire to throw me on the bed and fuck like crazy. I, in my clear head, thought it would be a good idea to push him up against the wall, press my eager breasts upon him and make out even more passionately while simultaneously trying to untuck his shirt. That didn’t work so well either.

So, since he wasn’t being very co-operative, I thought I’d try and live out a fantasy of mine. I pried myself off him, took his cowboy hat off the wall, placed it upon his head and told him how hot I thought he looked. Certainly this would help things move along…right?

Um, not so much.

He just stood there looking a little confused. However, my sluttish eyes did notice a bulge, a small bulge, but a bulge nevertheless, in his pants. So again I took matters into my own hands and tried to guide him to the bed while unbuckling his pants. Perhaps somewhere along the way I should have stopped to ask him what he wanted, but I thought I already knew. I mean, we were here, weren’t we? For the purpose of having sex, right?

I flung myself on his bed and tried to pull him on top of me as he wrangled his jeans off. It was all very hot in my eyes (except for the part where he was not as enthusiastic as I was and the part where he certainly was not riding me like the hot cowboy I was pretending he was!). I closed my eyes and waited for things to move along, to get better. They never did. Turns out my little leprechaun (who really was rather endowed) couldn’t get an erection.

Now, this was the first time this had ever happened and I sure as shit didn’t know what to do. I thought that they were always supposed to rise in my presence! And while this one was making an attempt, it wasn’t getting very far, or very hard.

I did what seemed reasonable in the moment. I pulled him down next to me and held him in my arms and said it was cool, we could take our time, maybe even have some foreplay. I thought maybe that would help things. I tried to be understanding. I tried to be supportive. I tried not to be disappointed and I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. That is when he decided to enlighten me a little bit.

Mr. Up got really upset about not getting an erection, which I have since learned is a normal reaction, and told me that he was on some medicines, some anti-depressants and that must be the problem. It wasn’t me. It was the pills and the beer. The drinking and the expectation that he just had to perform for me. That and the fact that this was all moving so quickly, there was no time to get used to things, to get used to screwing around without the expectation of having sex. I think he almost started crying.

I was stunned.

It never occurred to me that he might have wanted to take things slower or that he would feel like he had to perform for me since all I wanted was is cock, not him as a person. I tried to console him, to tell him that I knew what it was like to be on anti-depressants and how that affected your sex life. I tried to tell him that we could take a break, or try again later or get together some other time, or do it his way and try messing around slowly, over many dates. In the end though, he was inconsolable and gave me the boot.

Since we took separate cars to his place, it was a short awkward walk to my car and a disappointing good-bye.

I never heard from him again despite my sincere voicemail message that I’d really like to see him again and we could even keep our clothes on this time. I only saw him once more and that was just outside the new Kohl’s he presumably worked at which was much closer to where I was currently living. The last time I last saw him I had just finished telling my agonizing story to my friend, who tried to help me figure out how to undo what I had done. We decided shopping would be a great distraction, and it was, until I saw him ambling through mall with his friend. He walked right by me like I never had my hand on his junk a few nights ago. Like I never existed. I knew I would never get a chance to see if my little leprechaun could get it up.

I wanted to melt into the floor and cry.